Thoren's expression did not change as he stared at Minerva. Her tears, her vulnerability, and the guilt that gnawed at her from the inside meant nothing to him.
There was no flicker of hesitation in his eyes, no trace of sympathy.
To him, her breakdown was nothing more than an expected outcome, an inevitable consequence of weakness colliding with reality.
Cries and faint whispers echoed throughout the battlefield clearing as the undead finished off the last member of the Glorious Path Party.
The air was thick with the stench of blood unnatural aura radiating from the undead.
Thoren clicked his tongue softly and shook his head in mild annoyance.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Rowena kneeling several steps away.
One hand clutched her injured shoulder, slick with blood as she desperately tried to stop the bleeding.
Her breathing was labored, uneven, each breath scraping painfully against her chest.
Paladins were powerful, undeniably.
